


set a fire in my head tonight, tonight, tonight

by fabulouslarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Famous!Louis, Karaoke, M/M, a lot of little mix references at various points, normal!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 21:04:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5390324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulouslarry/pseuds/fabulouslarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Harry’s life is well and truly over. It’s done with.  He has embarrassed himself and now he’s gone viral. He needs to write a will. He needs to have his gravestone ready. ‘RIP Harry Edward Styles, loving family member but died because of a drunken mistake when Niall forced him to go out’, it would say. Harry can visualise it."</p><p>or</p><p>Harry is a musician and Louis is, but more famous. They karaoke during one night that none of them can remember, but the video of it goes viral. There's no escaping things like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	set a fire in my head tonight, tonight, tonight

Harry is well and truly fucked. 

This is not even an exaggeration. 

It is freezing outside in the London air, a mark of it being mid-winter and also because the breeze of December that didn’t fulfil its expectations has dragged out into January. The summer of last year had finished later than usual, hints of warmth still remaining in early October, and therefore had pretty much guaranteed a harsher and longer winter. The harsher parts have obviously decided to make an appearance now, much to a lot of people’s dismay.

Harry wouldn’t usually mind the cold, in fact he generally loves it. 

He hates the sun and the sweat that accompanies the heat, especially as it creeps up his neck and makes him feel gross. He hates getting burnt and the desperate need for shade. He really despises not being to even lie down in the comfort of covers, because even one thin layer is enough to leave him dehydrated and gasping for some sort of cold liquid. Sun is not for him at all. Summer is his worst enemy. It’s his enemy that waits in the corners waiting to strike.

He loves wrapping up in scarfs, and bandanas to cover his ears. He loves coats with faux fur trimmed along the edges and cuffs of sleeves. He loves socks and hot water bottles. He may resemble a five year old being forced to cover up by parents 97% of the time, but he carries on with his life in the cold, smiling all the way. But today that is different. He can’t really carry on with his life and not care when he is late to work.

He is going to get slaughtered.

Harry walks quickly, boots making fast sounds across the concrete of the public London scene. He doesn’t mean to be late. Not at all. But trying to squeeze an extra few seconds of sleep has tragically backfired on him when he woke up fifteen minutes later instead. Going to sleep late last night wasn’t a good idea, but he was trying to write and he lost track of time. That meant an extra two hours when he wasn’t sleeping. His eye bags probably say it all, and so strangers may come to the assumption that he is either homeless or on drugs.

“Can’t be later then I already am. Seriously Styles.” He murmurs to himself repeatedly. The feeling of needing to whack himself on the head is rather exploding, but his hands are too cold for that. 

No one hears him practically sealing his place in a mental asylum, instead the crowds push into him as they all walk and look like they need to get somewhere. The crowd all look the same, shivering under icy breaths and giving a big ‘fuck you’ the world with facial expressions. Harry towers above a majority of them, but his face still makes him look quite young.

It’s a family thing, a positive curse. 

It’s mad really, the rush of London in all hours of the day. Even night time leaves visitors crawling up roads in wide number of groups, drinks in their hands and their dignity not to be seen in the other. Harry knows it all, he witnesses it almost daily in relation to his job (with the exception of Thursdays.) London is really just an oversized playground, full of different attractions and spaces to eat. 

Harry barely manages to fit into the whole London scene. He works as a musician, although the label feels like acid and doesn’t feel right, when he explains to other people because it shouldn’t feel like a job. But it is a job, and not a hobby like Harry wishes, and Harry tries to accept that. 

Every day, except for Thursdays, he goes to play at a different pub or club, his manager Nick in the stands, and his guitarist Niall sitting patiently beside him. It isn’t a high paying job at all, shown through his dingy apartment in a rough street. He fears for his life every time he goes outside. His fridge is full of special offers of food and he lives off store brand green tea and water. He hasn’t even worked his way up to venues yet but he loves the atmosphere. He loves hearing his voice reach the walls of rooms and leaving marks and scars to be remembered by. 

Harry pulls out his phone to check the time, correctly entering his passcode even with numb fingers, and prays to anyone listening that his superfast speed of getting ready has paid off.

9 minutes late.

He gulps, turns a corner abruptly with the impact imbedded into his shoes, goes through a sinister looking alley and runs up the road. He is grateful that he knows where he is going, and ticks off the directions mentally in his head every time he sees a road sign.

He can feel his empty stomach, due to lack of food, rumbling and he tries extremely hard to ignore it. His death is practically being set up by now, he can imagine in it a tremendous amount of detail. Nick is more than likely hiding inside with a gun, and an open casket. It wouldn’t surprise Harry at all. 

His phone only barely manages to stay in his hand when he makes it through the door of his pub of the day, and gulps even more when Nick is waiting inside for him, eyebrows furrowed in disappointment.

Nick is like a scary beast, enough to match- in Harry’s mind- any Doctor Who enemy. He may be the same height as Harry, but his eyes hold a more vicious approach, not even twinkling in the slightest. His smiles are also a rare occasion to not be embraced. Luckily, him and Niall are close, possibly best friends due to Harry’s lack of peers, and they get along brilliantly.

Niall is hilarious, and an added Irish man, an all-around winner because he is amazing at guitar. He could definitely make it as a solo player or join a band. Harry prefers him to Nick, not surprisingly. Everyone loves Niall, so it’s hard not to.

Harry puts up with scary Nick though, because he is willing to take a chance on Harry. He thinks Harry has talent, and it is all worth it if even a few people listen to his songs over the chatter of others. It’s enough to please him for now.

****  
Louis moans when he hears his alarm blare through his room. His moan resembles the first time he ate broccoli and threw up. It is a moan of disgust and everything bad that is in the world. Broccoli is a bad thing. 

He doesn’t move at first, instead he lays there with his eyes firmly shut, and his arms securely under his double duvet. He tries to pretend that he didn’t hear his alarm. Sleep has always been a blessing, especially when it involves dreams of marvellous things like being on holiday in the sun.

Sleep is beautiful.

What isn’t beautiful is the repetitive nuisance of a sound that is an alarm.

Louis’s eyes shoot wide open when realises he can’t escape from this horrid reality, and he turns his alarm off with achy hands, and swears and mumbles profanities under his breath. He doesn’t even dare to go back to sleep now. There is no point. 

The sound of the alarm would just haunt him forever, and manipulate his dreams.

Fuck sake, why the fuck do I need to get up? It is a daily thought.

He slowly gets up and once his bare feet have hit the carpeted ground of his bedroom floor, he stretches. His body automatically feels better, if only a little bit, but his topless body now starts to feel the impact of the cold air. Louis searches for his t shirt in his double bed, and pulls it over his chest when he finds it hiding in the covers. Louis sighs in relief and grabs his phone to make his way downstairs. 

The stairs creak with every step Louis takes, and the cold air has clung to his feet. Louis tries to take not much notice (basically he swears at almost every time his feet touches the step, gaining a beat).

Once in the kitchen, a rather grand affair of shiny worktops and gadgets that haven’t even been used, Louis makes a cup of tea. Tea is Louis’s comfort, along with fish finger sandwiches with a side of chips. He grabs a packet of crisps from the cupboard, ignoring a bowl of apples that look buffed to perfection and a bunch of bananas, and goes through the door into his living room. It is quiet, a daily occurrence really, if Louis is even home that is. Once sat down on his sofa, he makes an attempt to call his agent slash handsome best friend Zayn.

Zayn is brilliant, just like sleep.

The phone rings twice before Zayn picks up. He never not answers the phone, the majority of the time. It is his job after all, the only time when he isn’t answering being when he is sleeping. There is a ‘Do Not Disturb Zayn when he is counting sheep’ as a golden rule.

Louis did that once. He hasn’t recovered from the backlash yet a few months on. 

“Alright mate.” Zayn’s voice is crisp and clear even in the early morning, and Zayn really hates mornings, enough to challenge the idea of his sleep being disturbed.

“Hi twat face.” Louis is on other hand very gruff sounding in the mornings. Not very attractive, Louis considers, but it is what it is.

Zayn laughs, the sound screaming through the phone making Louis wince. “What’s up dickhead? If that is your real name.”

“You are rather pleasant aren’t you?” Louis deliberately puts emphasis on the last two words, his voice taking a rather feminine twinge mixed in with some posh tone.

“You started it.” Zayn sounds amused.

“It looks like I did.” Louis smirks in satisfaction, although Zayn can’t see him. “Anyway, I was wondering what I had to do today, you know, events and all that.”

“I am the human calendar obviously, being your agent and all. Off the top of my head, I don’t know. Let me check.” Zayn’s voice gradually disperses and Louis can hear the shuffling of objects in the background. Louis takes advantage of this time, and buries his feet under pillows to make them warmer. If anyone was watching, he may appear to be a five year old, or even an elf.

“Back!”

Louis closes his eyes briefly, then squints. “No need to shout.”

“Sorry. Not really.” Lovely friend Zayn is. “You have a few things to do today. Interview for Pop Culture magazine and a brief photo shoot, a charity event for Rays of Sunshine, and then a promo event at Funky Buddha later.” 

“Yay. Brilliant.”

“Shut up and don’t be sarcastic. You will be picked up in about an hour, I’ll text you when we are nearly there. Make sure you are dressed appropriately, wash your hair, and for God’s sake Louis eat more than a packet of crisps. I didn’t buy you proper food for nothing mate.”

Louis is about to protest but Zayn has hung up and so, Louis scowls harshly into the emptiness of his living room and the random bits of furniture scattered about. The house is too big for him on his own and is really just a show of wealth.

Busy days are a harsh reality for Louis, although he never admits it, which is included in the perks of being a sort of defined famous pop star. He has had a few hits here and there, Midnight Memories being his more recognised number one, enough to not be quite as known as Taylor Swift but more known than all the X factor winners combined. He was puked up into the music scene two years ago at the naïve age of twenty, and two top ten albums later he seemed to be going in the right direction. His twitter followers were now quite high, and subscribers popping up on his VEVO channel every day. It can be slightly overwhelming, at times. Or all the time, same difference really.

Louis feels grateful, his previous dreams being in fact real life, but it is all rather exhausting. He barely has a spare minute. He hasn’t seen his family for a good while, approximately a month, except for Christmas only. But it felt good to give out high quality presents for once, even if Zayn did wrap them.

He remembers clearly his mum saying important words, while sat at the table and chewing on turkey with crackers crumpled in their laps. “You really should see us more.” He really wishes he could, it was a massive disadvantage of the job. Instead, he looked blank for a second and whispered that he would.

The worst part was the actual work that didn’t involve singing or music in the slightest. The promo events and interviews all seem so fake and scripted. He is actually only excited for the charity event, because it is private and he has a chance to be himself alongside adorable and brave kids with their unique stories. That definitely beats the idea of parading around in clubs and women throwing themselves at him, quite literally.

So much fun.

In an act of ongoing tiredness, Louis throws his phone onto the sofa, and debates whether to get up and listen to Zayn. Instead, he opens his crisps and focuses on ignoring how the vinegar leaves a sour taste in his mouth. 

(Later when Louis gets in to the car, Zayn knows automatically, in all his God like glory. It is like a natural response.

He examines Louis carefully with an arched and flawless eyebrow, and sniffs the air. “I told you not eat those crisps, you idiot.” 

Zayn whacks Louis with his notepad on the arm, calls him an idiot again, and glares at him the whole way. He gets over it soon afterwards though, when Louis tickles his shoulder.)

****

Thursday is a beautiful day for Harry. The best day of the whole week. Forget Fridays, he thought, Thursdays were like heaven on earth. Thursdays were like having crumpets in the morning with a perfect cup of tea and not wearing toasty socks.

He plans everything out carefully for his day off. He will put on his best pyjamas and fluffiest socks, tie his hair up (it is long enough for that now), turn his phone off so there would be no way for PPI companies to call up, and watch TV all day. A bath will take place in the middle of this where Harry will stay in the water until his skin wrinkles, and Harry will eat a Chinese takeaway afterwards (Chow Mein with chips and prawn crackers). Everything is planned to be brilliant and relaxing and so undeniably perfect.

Unfortunately, Niall Horan exists. And Niall Horan happens to like clubs, girls and beer. A combination of all three is all Niall can hope for, which makes him sound like a stereotypical lad. And Harry can’t say no to anything, not even on his day off. Especially when Niall could convince random strangers that he is a famous footballer. Harry still can’t believe it to this day.

It was the charm. Harry had questioned it many times, and tried to find the answer but at the end of the day it all boils down to the charm. Harry thinks it’s innate.

“It will be fun!” he had said.

So much fun that Niall had turned up at Harry’s flat with a can in his hand of Strongbow and his pockets full of only a phone and a few notes of cash. No keys or anything. He doesn’t even need conformation that Niall will spend the night at Harry’s. 

It’s true friendship.

“I’ll stay here.” Harry doesn’t even tell him anything otherwise. Instead he makes his way to his bedroom, which he has now been in for at least twenty minutes.

“Come on Harry, get dressed quicker!” Niall shouts, perching on the worn down sofa that is in Harry’s living room. Niall’s voice can go right through anyone, it’s loud and demanding tone soaring through the air at rocket speed.

Harry stands in front of his bedroom mirror only in his boxers and evaluates outfit choices. His wardrobe has virtually been destroyed as Harry had been searching through the small space like a ravaged animal. Fortunately, no claw marks are evident. That’s a bonus at least, right?

Harry really cannot decide what to wear. 

Should he wear his dark skinnies? Or blue?

A jumper or a shirt?

Harry has never been good at getting ready, in fact it is one of his worst traits. He is nearly as bad as the stereotypical presumptions of a girl and their routines for getting ready. He never knows what to wear, or how to have his hair. Should he have a hat on? Should he not? These were dilemmas Harry had to face every time he decided to go out to a club or a party.

That's why he tried to avoid them mostly.

Precisely at the moment that Harry think he may suffer a mental breakdown and is about to pull his hair out, his door opens rather abruptly. Harry jumps when he sees Niall, and immediately puts his hands in the front part of his boxers, in an attempt to hide his modesty. His face flushes, and he stands awkwardly with his back slightly hunched over.  
“Niall! I’m half naked! Seriously, what the fuck?” Harry scolds, hands not moving from their position. He can't risk it. 

“Grow up,” and Niall says it like he is rather amused. He stops for a second, looks down at Harry’s ‘area’ and looks at the clothes on the bed. It’s like he is thinking about something, about trying to make a decision. Then he smiles slightly.

Harry is rather scared and confused.

Niall picks up the pair of black jeans, and a plain white shirt, and throws them directly at Harry. Harry flinches automatically as the material of the items hits his face and falls to the floor in a heap.

“What was that for?”

“Put them on, now.” Niall turns to leave, but stops again. He walks towards Harry, and taps him directly at the crotch. “The jeans will be guaranteed to give you attention.” Niall winks, turns on his heel and exits the room, slamming the door.

Harry is frozen to the floor, and his face is as flushed as ever. But then he realises something is missing. Something that can make all the difference to an oufit.

“What about the shoes?” Harry shouts.

“Your black boots will make them jeans look even hotter,” Niall shouts back, voice loud and clear.

Harry flushes again, and mumbles a ‘thank you.’ He’s not sure Niall hears it until he hears a shout of ‘anything for you Hazza and the chance you might meet hot men.’

Why the fuck is Niall his best friend? Harry doesn’t know but he does know that he would be lost without him.

****  
Louis loves drink. He loves the way how a simple substance could block out surroundings, tainting them with other possibilities and different visions. Alcohol made everything a lot simpler, and a lot easier to be around.

Louis sometimes really wanted to forget everything, and to forget he had work to do. His whole life was work. And so this was a perfect opportunity to forget and also get hammered at the same time.

“Hey Zaynie boy! Let’s get drunk!” Louis says as he gets into the car that was like his second home, jeans tight around his legs and the fur from his denim jacket slightly scratching his face. It made him feel warm in the winter air.

“Jesus Christ, why are you so happy?” Zayn looks utterly disgusted in the way that Louis is smiling widely, teeth on show and everything. Zayn is so damn confused when it comes to Louis. It’s been that way for a long time, one and a half years actually.

Louis looks at him as if he has gone insane. “Why wouldn’t I be happy? It’s Thursday for one, so two for one at Intoxicated, and everything is great. Ain’t it Zayn? Come on. Everything is bea-uuuuu-tiful.” He pats Zayn on the shoulder with his free hand that isn’t putting his seat belt on, and his fingers tingle as he feels Zayn’s leather jacket touch his skin. It’s authentic, and faded ever so slightly, but Zayn pulls it off. Zayn can pull anything off with that face off his, and his warm eyes and slight stubble. 

“You shouldn’t be allowed to think about alcohol at any time,” Zayn mumbles and pushes Louis’s hand off him, trying to act serious and threatening. “You are like a five year old experiencing a sugar rush.” Another scowl, and crossing his arms tightly on his chest.

Louis pouts. “I am not. I’m very much more mature then a five year old.”

“Not you are not,” Zayn says as he scoffs. 

“Please,” Louis replies. “I have a lot of maturity and you know it.” The thing is, Louis loves annoying Zayn because it makes Zayn more laid back. It loses some of the tension he got from being Louis’s agent, and somehow mages to get him out of work mode.

“You know that is not true.”

Louis grins at his pals rather false negative attitude. “You love it really.”

Zayn doesn’t deny it, so he know it’s true.

****  
It’s much later and Harry is wasted. Unbelievably wasted actually.

His vision is full of lights. So many lights. So many different colours. They go from red to blue to pink to green, leaving traces across his eyesight. The lights go round the dance floor, skimming across the variety of people that are here. Harry feels drunk on this alone, like he will end up throwing up a rainbow later on. He wouldn't be surprised to be honest.

His ears are thudding, going along with the music, and he feels surprisingly light and airy, like if he had wings he could easily fly. He feels free. He starts to sway, his arms having no control as he moves. Because he is sitting down he whacks his arm off the table, so he stands up. A little off balance though.

“What are you doing, you mad prick?” Niall shouts a bit, giggling also, his arms wrapped around a pretty brunettes waist. He also is sitting down, leaning back slightly. He looks so elegant, yet so hungry towards the girl next to him. 

“I’m going to dance, dearest Nialler! Fuck yeah!” Harry declares, and salutes the air like somebody is watching him. He leaves Niall who doesn't even question Harry’s actions, just picks up a shot glass and tips it back. The girl beside Niall kisses him on the cheek with pouted lips and giggles, picking up her own glass and gulping some sort of berry coloured substance down.

Harry walks over to the short distance that is the dance floor, and relaxes in the moment. He can hear the music clearly, the sounds shooting into his ears and affecting his movements. He feels like he has no weight at all. He just is quite motionless, and relying on gravity to keep him firmly on the ground.

All can he think about really is how much fun he is having. Dancing is a lot of fun, especially when Harry is drunk.

No one takes any notice of him dancing alone, they just carry on in their own bubbles of dazed emotions, grasping onto fogged glasses from frequent breath, filled with liquids that are begging to be drunk by lipstick stained lips. Drinking was always messy.

“Oh my god, I love this song.” Harry shrieks to himself. He grins widely, not that anyone has had the advantage to receive it because he is in his own little bubble. It’s Little Mix’s Move, and Harry really likes the chorus. He may have had it on repeat a lot when it first came out, and he may have spent way too long trying to learn the dance moves on his days off.

“Hey baby, tell me ya name.” Harry sings, screeching when he attempts a few words, and jumps around a bit childishly. His arms and legs aren't restricted by his thoughts, so they go everywhere.

“I got a fever for ya, I just can’t expla-. “ Harry stops when he hears a sudden ‘Ow’ behind him, his arms going down to his sides immediately. He turns, his fingers shaking from the impact they had received. He just fucking hit someone.

“Oh my, that fucking hurt,” A voice growls, sounding a mix between being really angry and upset.

The voice belongs to someone who is around Harry’s age, maybe a few years older or younger, and Harry feels guilty when he sees the person shaking his hands to relieve the pain, and swearing under his breath. All the colours have disappeared from Harry’s vision, as he focuses on the appearance of the person in front of him.

He is quite beautiful, Harry decides. Brown tousled hair, slightly greasy actually, and skinny jeans that show off toned thighs. His eyes are blue, very blue in fact, if stared at for the period of time that Harry has. Full lips, sharp cheekbones, and a very petite body in general. 

This man is gorgeous. He is what Harry would like to call heavenly.

“I’m so sorry.” Harry squeals, and he sounds remarkably like a mouse. He is such an idiot, it’s hard to believe. “Accident I swear. I’m not totally with it.”

He really isn’t. Anyone could see that.

“Its fine, it happens. Drink does a lot of things you know to people. Don’t worry ‘bout it, erm-. “The stranger stops in mid thought, not knowing how to continue, and briefly stares down at his feet before raising his head to its original position. He looks puzzled.

A second passes between them. They stare at each other like both of them don’t know quite what to do.

“Harry,” Harry suggests, biting his lip when he stops speaking.

“Huh?” The stranger blinks. 

“That’s my name. What’s yours?”

The stranger looks confused, and a bit anxious for a few seconds. Harry doesn’t quite know why. “Name? What the-”. Another brief pause. “My name is Louis.” Louis says it slowly, still looking a bit freaked out as he watches Harry, who observes Louis’s expressions with some sort of inner interest.

“Nice to meet you Louis,” Harry smiles, then suddenly he feels brave. The alcohol is still evidently in his system, and still affecting his mind set. “Let’s get some drinks, shall we then Lou?”

It’s not really a question, more like a statement not to be ignored or disagreed with, but Louis protests. “Oh, I really shouldn’t.” He looks behind him. “I’ve left my friend somewhere.” He looks apologetic, and in a hurry to get along.

Harry gives a disapproving look, not taking any time to tolerate excuses. Apparently being drunk has given him confidence as well. “Shut up and let’s go.” Harry grabs Louis’s arm that is covered with a jacket, and pulls him off the dance floor and towards the bar. Louis remains silent, his arms freezing at the contact initially, but then feeling looser under his grip eventually.

Harry doesn’t really take any notice of any signs of hesitation because he likes making friends. He likes communicating with people.

And after drinking some shots of vodka, everything becomes a blur of sweat stuck to and glistening on foreheads, and loud music that threatens to deafen them all. Harry feels like he is on speeded up carousel as everything spins around him. Instead of making conversation with Louis, they drink and drink, and drink even more, it feels like there is more alcohol then blood in their system. Some tequila slides down Harry’s throat, and other drinks with strange names that Harry has barely tried before.

If he attempted or tried to speak, he is sure that his voice would get lost, so he admires Louis silently, smiling as he finishes each glass, sometimes even clapping and encouraging him. A sense of familiarity is hidden deep in his heart, but he doesn’t investigate it further.

He does learn one thing, even without communication, that this Louis guys get drunk rather quickly, because by the fifth glass of something his eyes are twinkling and his face looks warm, cheeks tinting red. Harry wants to take a picture.

Everything is bound to be lost in his memory really, Harry decides as he sails through the night on a constant high. He feels high on the crazy London night life.

There are exceptions though to things he might not remember, such as the few glimpses of Niall, and girls leaning into his neck. He remembers Louis discarding his jacket onto a set of empty chairs, the sleeves hanging off the sides. He remembers going for a piss in the toilets and struggling to get his jeans down, although that wasn’t really a positive thing. He vaguely recalls taking his top off before being forced to put it back on by an unknown source. 

In fact, he also barely processes there being an announcement for any sort of thing like karaoke. He hears the word, volumes above everyone else, and that is it. After that, Harry’s memory is discarded completely, becoming lost in the thrill and future adventures of the night.

****  
When Harry wakes up the next morning, nothing seems different. He wakes up with a headache from the amount of alcohol consumed, tucked away next to a snoring Niall rather closely in his bed with his alarm ringing. 

He swipes across his phone screen with his finger without even looking at it. It’s a process that happens every day so it seems natural to him.

Harry nudges Niall with his arm, half covered with his sleeve of his t shirt, and he hears Niall make a faint noise. He shifts and cosies up to Harry even more. It would be cute except they both have work in a bit and Niall’s arse is really bony. He was a bit of a skinny lad.

“Niall, we have to get up.”

Harry doesn’t expect a response at all but he gets an “hmmmm.” 

Harry has the urge to laugh but they really need to get up for work. He can’t deal with being late because Nick really will crucify him and bury him in the middle of muddy ditch. He narrowly escaped last time. It cannot be done again.

“Niallllllllll,” Harry whines. “I’ll make you breakfast if you get up. Eggs and bacon.”

Niall opens his eyes which are full of sleep, and shifts himself. “That sounds good. Good Hazza.”

“I’ll do that and you have a shower. You might have lipstick on your neck.”

Niall nods, and yawns. He ignores Harry’s comment and moves up again. He looks more awake. “How do you not feel that sick? You drunk so much last night.”

“I don’t know really,” Harry says. “Good tolerance, I guess? I have a banging headache though so I’ll take some Ibropufen.”

“Good lad.”

Then they move, slowly but on time enough to make it too work at an appropriate time. Harry cooks some egg and bacon and takes some tablets with water while Niall has a shower to wipe away any marks that shows female contact. Then he eats his breakfast and Harry takes a shower himself.

As the water scolds his skin slightly, he begins to feel even better. He doesn’t think about the stranger he met the night before. He doesn’t think about it at all.  
It’s like the water has washed away the rest of his drunken haze.

He gets out and brushes his teeth, and then gets changed. It’s like a routine of every other day. He and Niall walk to work together, a new destination, and it seems like a normal day. That changes later. 

****  
Harry sighs as he sits on a table in his break, at another pub, much later.

He and Niall luckily weren’t late, and Nick didn’t notice them being a bit groggy either fortunately. Harry just really wants to go back to sleep though. It’s like a constant thought in the back of his head.

Harry tries to focus on drinking the water in front of him, a clear glass with a handful of ice mixed with the liquid, as Niall scrolls through his phone. Harry can hear Niall’s nails occasionally scratch the screen, but in a soothing sort of way. It makes Harry sleepier. 

Why can’t he just sleep?

“Harry, have you watched the video?”

Harry snaps his head up so he can look at Niall and question him. “What?”

“There’s like a viral video of that dude from X Factor.”

“What? Who?” Harry asks. He really doesn’t know who Niall is going on about.

“Like there is a video on the news and all over media of something that Louis Tomlinson did. You know that dude that sang the song you liked. No Control.”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says and he nods. He does like that song. He likes the way the chorus holds passion, and the lyrics are too good- raunchy and innocent- to be ignored.

“It’s everywhere. We should watch it.”

And Harry thinks there is no harm in doing so. Harry is presumably always wrong though.

Niall clicks on the thumbnail of the video which is some sort of stage with two people on it. He guesses one of the people is Louis Tomlinson, former contestant and hot shot on the X Factor. It is, after all, a video about him.

The lighting in the video is slightly dark, and Harry can hear the music of the song start. He hears the intro, and then tries to focus more on the two people who are singing and he freezes when he hears one of the voices.

It’s clear as day. It’s as clear as anything and Harry really wants to die in that moment. He wants the ground to swallow him up. Anything to get him away from the situation that is happening.

It’s him. Harry is singing together with someone famous.

He knows Niall sees it to, because it’s like Niall stops breathing, and his fingers tense against the screen yet he doesn’t stop the video.

Harry keeps watching the video, and all he can see is him staring at Louis as he belts out some of the verse. His face goes red as they sing the ‘loaded gun’ part together and he feels sick when he sees how he is shimmying his hips in his tight jeans. And Harry really can’t quite process what is going on. His brain is fuzzy, and it’s like he is drunk all over again. 

He sang karaoke with Louis Tomlinson. He attempted to flirt, judging by the way he is moving and shaking about, with Louis Tomlinson. 

The song stops, and as Niall locks his phone a silence falls briefly between the two of them.

Oh my fucking god, Harry thinks. 

“Harry?”

And Harry really doesn’t want to answer because he knows what the question is going to be. He knows, and he’s bracing himself for it. “Yeah?”

“Am I going mad, or is that you and Louis Tomlinson singing No Control together, and you trying to seduce him?”

Harry sighs. “Yeah.”  
Harry’s life is well and truly over. It’s done with. He has embarrassed himself and now he’s gone viral. He needs to write a will. He needs to have his gravestone ready. ‘RIP Harry Edward Styles, loving family member but died because of a drunken mistake when Niall forced him to go out’, it would say. Harry can visualise it. 

“I forgot that you spoke to someone. Do you not remember?”

“I can’t really remember anything,” Harry persists. “Niall what am I going to do?”

Niall looks lost in thought for a moment. But then he says, “you looked like you fucked him? Did you?”

Harry slaps him on his back, and doesn’t even regret it when he hears Niall make a noise of pain. 

It is all Niall’s fault after all.

****  
Louis has seen the video and now he’s suffering the consequences.

“Louis you fucking idiot.”

“Fuck off and leave me alone and let me die,” Louis groans into his blanket. Zayn sits on the end of his bed looking all polished and perfect and Louis really hates him right now. He hates himself more though.

“You sang a sex song with a random man in a bar. Of course I’m not leaving you alone you twat,” Zayn spits, and if Louis isn’t going mad then he swears he can see the twinkle of amusement in Zayn’s eyes.

“He didn’t know who I was.”

“People are going to think that you are gay or something judging by your body language. Actually, people have said on social media that you look like you are in a relationship with him. You both look like you’re going to pounce on each other.”

Louis scowls and rolls his eyes. “I’m not gay you dick, I’m bisexual. Don’t label my sexuality wrong.…”

“Whatever you say,” Zayn interrupts.

“…I have had girlfriends you know.”

“Please. You’ve had more interest in this dude then you have ever had in any relationships with girls.”

“Fuck off,” Louis scowls because his mind suddenly goes back to ‘that’ relationship with Eleanor. She was problematic to say the least. 

“Whatever. The most important thing is that you sort this out.”

“Hmmm, how am I meant to do that?” Louis says sadly, reaching forward from the security of his blanket to claw at Zayn’s jumper. He’s acting like a little kid.

“It’s your fault.” 

“But Zayn,” Louis practically sobs, and he begins to scratch Zayn’s shoulder. He can’t sort this out himself. 

Zayn surrenders. “Fine, I’ll try to sort this out. I’ll speak to some people at management. They will figure this out.”

“Thank you Zayn. I owe you one.”

Zayn just scoffs. “You owe me for a lot of things.”

Louis nods. He doesn’t know what he would do without Zayn.


End file.
